The Road Between

Sometimes all there is to do is drive

and drive, and drive, and drive until

you forget to where you’re going,

you forget from where you came,

and you remember there’s no difference

except the road which lies between.

And when you don’t got the wheels

or means or place to stay

you walk, and walk, and walk until

it all makes sense enough to go away.

And you remember not to worry so much

as in all walks of eternity

you’re a part of this one, and the heartache

pain and blame is all just slapstick.

It’s a grand ole comedy of magic and men

who’d drown before they’d ever dive in.

So the next time I, see-you-me,

I hope we’re swimming in the Milky Way!

Travelers through time and time forgot,

our elephant minds remember.

The Other Type Of Feeling

You know that feeling?

The excitement you get when you see someone

And that someone’s a stranger

A stranger creeping up on the ground itself

Cautious and casual as not to disturb the air

And they think they’re not being watched

Yet secretly hoping that they are, because

What they’re creeping towards, they believe

Is gold, mercury, or an ancient artifact

An artifact no one but them has discovered

Or ever will—first—in their own time,

And in that moment you get excited too

Except you get excited for a different reason

And when their discovery turns to a shameful frown of defeat

Your lips turn upward towards the sky

Chuckling to yourself, kind of happy, kind of sad

Yet you understand enough to feel commradery

Wishing that stranger was your friend

Just so you could kick em in the pants

Walking in the desert of night

For once in this hell of a lifetime

I’m not calling anyone out—

Walking in the desert of night stars

With my own well being

I no longer glance behind—

Finally I realize there is nothing left behind

Nothing that isn’t worth looking forward to—

My soul is clean, my eyes are clear

I no longer cry for those I cannot save—

Saving myself, one step at a time.

December Evening, 2020

8:30 in New Jersey

The evening air is still—

Black ice it lies in waiting—

Walking with the cold

I watch asphalt exhaling.

If winter had a home—

Or frost a day to rest—

It be within this heart,

It be within this breath.

Communion in the Park

Men in the park

grip brown paper bags

certain as Catholic nuns

grasp their faith,

both counting one

by one, until neither

makes any difference

in the course of eternity.

Two paths, one park bench—

Angelic in their own rite.

Hayati

Your aura
warms my spirit
barefoot in awe
I wonder
whatever tomorrow
brings, today
my love is endless,
as warm
as the white light
which paints
my shadow
onward—
Hayati

White Light Oracle Deck

yourself and happiness

The only road block

between yourself

and happiness,

is you.

Mural, Santa Monica.

walking the corner of my eye

If that’s not you

walking the corner of my eye

then who? I wonder,

who’s shadow unwinds?

Overhead like a compass,

creation of time. Time

and again, like time were a crime.

Wasted. Lost. Forgotten. Blind.

Memories fade, they never die.

So if that flutter of feather is you,

alright that’s fine. It’s much ado.

So when they ask you calmly why

won’t you share yourself with I?

I have and will, see I am I

unanswered we are now defined.

broken leaves at sundown

broken leaves at sundown

set fire to the trees

drinking from the heavens

of nature’s crystal spring

yellow jacket bumbling

curious honey bees

as blades of grass we tango

bound for eternity